


Whiskey Sours & Butterfly Wings

by fudgernutter



Category: It's an Undertale Au!, Lets call it Demontale, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Death, Depression, F/M, Gen, Homophobia, Multi, Racism, This takes place in the south, Transphobia, and is pretty much aweful, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 07:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7039549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fudgernutter/pseuds/fudgernutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s an old rumour that stems from the South. It’s about the crossroads and it’s on the tongue on every church goer and sinner alike.</p><p>It’s real simple honestly: If you’re ever in want of something, you can walk to your nearest crossroads, bury a box in the center with a gift- some cigars, a nice fresh bottle of milk, a good slice of pie- around midnight and wait. A man dressed in black will come and give you whatever your heart desires. </p><p>The price? </p><p>Why, only your soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moonshine

There’s an old rumour that stems from the South. It’s about the crossroads and it’s on the tongue on every church goer and sinner alike.

It’s real simple honestly: If you’re ever in want of something, you can walk to your nearest crossroads, bury a box in the center with a gift- some cigars, a nice fresh bottle of milk, a good slice of pie- around midnight and wait. A man dressed in black will come and give you whatever your heart desires. 

The price? 

Why, only your soul. 

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

You don’t know what you were thinking. This was quite possibly the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. And that was including the time you’d stole your Gran’s keys to drive to the dollar store on your provisional. 

And yet here you were. Standing at the intersection of two dirt roads outside of town at a quarter till midnight. In the center of the dusty roads was freshly turned dirt. You had buried a small pine box with a bunch of cookies from a fresh batch you had made earlier this evening. The names of the roads were unfamiliar to you, considering you had drove for a while to find a set of crossroads not covered completely in asphalt. But this is what you get for trying to summon a devil. 

It was a hot night but you still shivered and pulled your light sweater closer.

You weren’t sure why you thought this would work. Gran always told you about the old hoodoo legends and the Black Man who would come to the crossroads, but you had always thought it was hearsay. Some old wives tale.

But god damn if you weren’t desperate enough to try an old wives tale at this point

A sigh. The quiet rustle of clothing. Crickets chirping and the leaves turning in the breeze. You checked your phone for the time. The digital clock on the front read 11:57. 

To be honest you were getting more than a little nervous. What if the ritual didn’t work? And even more jarring though: what if it did? You snuck a peek at your phone to see the picture you had snapped of you and your younger sibling smiling back at you. Looking at their smiling face made you steel your resolve. If it did work, well everything should be okay right? If not… Well then you’d just redouble your efforts.

Another quick check to your phone screen. 11:59. You had a minute. Shit. Should you pray that the demon actually shows up or what? Well, praying has never helped you in the past so you shrug off the thought.

You’re getting antsy and you know it. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the air out slowly. You’d wait till 12:05 and if nothing happened you would just leave. It would be a silly little blip in the rest of your rather uneventful little life. You were sure that-

You hear the sound of a crunch, and your eyes snap open.

In front of you is a man, not much taller than you but broad and wide. You can tell from where you stand on the side that he has a gut on him. He’s wearing some kind of suit, blank pants and a blue button-down top with black suspenders overtop. He has a relaxed stance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers, shoulders slack and back slightly hunched. He moves, turning his head side to side then shrugging his shoulders in a stretch. You hear him hmm to himself, the voice deep and rich with an odd echo-like quality to it. It makes you shiver and you can’t help but gasp softly at him.

He turns at the sound, and you fight the urge to run run run, because the person in front of you isn’t a man and you can see that now as he turns to look at you that he’s dead a corpse. Just pale bleached bones stuck into crisp funeral clothes. 

You feel your legs shake and threaten to give out and you wrap your arms around yourself in an act to literally pull yourself together. You asked for this. You asked for this.

“Hey there sweet-cheeks,” he calls out to you, mouth hardly moving from the literal skeleton grin. “You make these cookies?”

He pulls a hand out of his pocket, and with it comes the small zip-lock bag you kept the cookies in before placing them in the box. You nod, mouth not cooperating with you, and his smile seems to grow wider.

He digs into the bag and pulls out one. He makes a show of eating it: his mouth parting to reveal a blue glowing interior and he chomps the whole thing down in one bite. “I gotta admit, don’t normally get cookies, ‘specially homemade ones. ‘S a nice treat. Thanks.”

“Uh… You’re welcome?” You manage to offer after finding your voice. You silently applaud yourself that it’s a bit more steady than you expected.

He nods silently, eating another cookie. You take the moment to compose yourself, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He watches you watch him, which is weird. He only has small specks of light inside empty eyesockets. It’s almost like those fake Halloween decorations you sometimes see with the LEDs in the eyes. Something about that is oddly comforting.

“So…” He starts, munching on another cookie. It’s jarring to see a demon- skeleton? Skeleton demon?- just casually eat cookies in front of you. “Ya’ got me here. What d’ya want?” 

His eyes scan over you, resting on your chest. He holds up on finger, it’s thick bone that ends in a rounded point, as you open your mouth to respond. “Nah, lemme guess.”

Another cookie disappears. “Lesse… You want what fame? Fortune?” You shake your head at both. His eyes cross your chest again, and you would feel insulted but the look isn’t vulgar in any way. “Ah. I see now. Ya want time.”

Your mouth quirks a little. “You done?”

He raises a… browbone? You’re not sure how he’s managing to convey emotion with just a skull, but he is, and nods.

You sigh, “For your information, I actually don’t want none of that.”

“Oh? Color me interested,” he says, his grin growing wider.

“Nah, I thought I’d color you blue.” The words blurt out before you can even stop them and you almost slap yourself. Good job, idiot. Make the demon you wanted to deal with angry.

He laughs, deep and loud. “Oh that’s great. Funny and sassy. I got a good one. So then, pray tell, what do you want that little ol’ me could give?”

“I want you to find my younger sibling a home.”


	2. Gin & Tonic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You learn a little bit more about demons... and yourself.

Wow, you think to yourself. That sounded a lot less terrible in your head and you visibly wince. The demon- double wow, you need to find another name for him other than that- on the other hand just looks intrigued, one brow arching much like an eyebrow would. You think if he looked any more sceptical that his eye socket might swallow his entire face whole.

“Okay, so that sounded real bad but, uh, just let me explain okay?” You quietly offer up, running your hands through your hair. The demon doesn’t say anything, just settles into himself a bit more, returning his hands to his pockets and slouching again. The lights that seem to serve as his eyes never waver from your face. You wonder what you must look like to him, in the cut off jeans and baggy tee, worn down converses and a ratty old sweater. A poor bum to pawn off your youngest sibling? Probably.

You sigh. None of that. It’s not true anyway. You take a moment to collect yourself.

“Okay. Well. For starters, I’m real sick. An inoperable tumor, right back here,” you point to the back of your head. “Well, I mean technically I got a couple, but the one near the brainstem is the worse, and probably is what’s gonna kill me. They say it’s called Glioblastoma. Either way, I got maybe eight months to live? Six good ones before the tumor gets too bad and, ya know, I can’t take care of myself or Frisk.

“Frisk, uh they’re my little sibling. And before you ask, they are a they. They don’t like being called boy or girl terms so, we’re sticking with neutral until they tell me otherwise.” You pause and glance at him. You’re ready to fight him on the whole ‘neither one or another’ type deal, but instead he just nods, showing he understands, and you let out a puff of air you didn’t know you had been holding.

“Alright. Good. Um. So we’re on the same page.” You pause. “Well, lemme tell you, me and Frisk? We ain’t got nobody but each other. I’ve been taking care of them for as long as they were born. Even when Momma was ‘round, because- and I guess I oughta tell you this up front too- Momma was a drunkard and didn’t really take care of me and Frisky too well. Gran stepped in when it got too bad, but she had her own demons, uh, pardon my phrasing.”

He chuckles. “‘S fine sweet-cheeks. The phrase came from somewhere ya know.”

“Uh… well yeah. Um she died a few years go and Momma is not in any way shape or form okay to actually be a mother and who even knows who’s Frisk’s Daddy is so… Um yeah. I really don’t have anyone to send Frisk to when… when I uh… when things get bad.”

“Sweetheart,” he drawls and the term of endearment makes you cringe. It reminds you of Mrs. Pat next door with her input on everything, from Frisk’s haircut to your old worn out jalopy. “I’m pretty sure humans got places to find kid’s families when things like this happens.”

“I am not sending Frisk to a fucking foster home!” You bark out, hands curled into tight fists. Just thinking about leaving Frisk to the care of God knows who makes your skin absolutely crawl, and you will not do it. You will not do it. No no no.

He throws up his hands, he actually looks surprised by your outburst. “Alright, alright. Calm down there. I’m just being a numbskull.”

You have to do a mental double take at that. Was he making skeleton puns? Your lips twist into a wry grin but his placating gestures and obvious attempt to ease the tension isn’t working. He is your last chance and he has to understand.

“You think you’re the first person I’ve gone to? The first thing I’ve tried?” You ask. It’s completely hypothetical and he knows it. You can’t help the bitter and slightly hysterical laugh that escapes. “I’ve tried everything! Gone through family records, the state, people who are actually looking to adopt, everything I can think of! But I don’t want Frisk to end up stuck with people who don’t care about them or don’t love them and can’t, or won’t, be their support system. I can’t leave them behind with nothing! They’re so good! So smart! I want them to have the world!”

You realize you might be crying, but you don’t care. “I’d give up everything for them and I can’t because I’m already gonna die. And yeah you could give me more time but what would that even do? Delay the inevitable? Give them five more years so I can die when they are in high school and the world still hates them because they think they are broken?” You spit out that last word like poison. 

“No. I ain’t gonna let that happen to my baby sib. They’re the only good thing that’s ever fucking happened to me ever and I don’t want a place for them to live, I want them a place where they can grow and learn and become the wonderful adult I know they can be. I need them to have a home.”

You lock eyes with the demon. “So. Tell me mister, what’s it gonna be? You gonna give me what I want or what?”

You hear him sigh, eye sockets closing like eyelids. The world seems to stop for a moment as clouds cover the moon making him look like just a black figure in the dark. But as the clouds moved back across, he straightens to his full height. He’s still not much taller than you but he still does intimidate you, and you almost feel bad for your earlier outburst but you hold your ground.

“Alright sweet-cheeks,” he says. He opens his eyes to where they are half lidded, like he’s too tired to open them all the way or something. He crosses the distance over to you, steps oddly light for someone of his girth. “I’ll give ya what ya want.”

He stops in front of you and raises his hand. He makes a come-hither motion with one finger and you feel a small tugging in your chest. When you look down you see small purple heart floating in front of you.

“See that? That’s your soul. It’s everything you are and will be wrapped up into one,” he tells you, voice oddly quiet.

“My… my soul?” You murmur out. It’s really quite beautiful, like cut stone. The surface is solid and shiny, perfect except for a pale chink right in the center. 

“What’s that?” You wonder aloud, reaching a finger up to touch it, only to find it pass through without resistance. He clicks his tongue at you, a sound that is strangely human for something that looks like the bleached bones of a human skeleton. 

“Ya said ya were sick, right? Well, your soul is just reflectin’ it. If I had to guess, it’s the beginning of a Shatter. But don’t worry, I’ll be comin’ fer this way before the cracks reach the outside.” His otherwize lazy grin seems a tad more ominous at the comment. Right. Skeleton demon is taking your soul.

“So… um, how is this gonna work?” You ask, picking at a stray piece of string on your sweater. The soft purple glow of your soul makes its age all the more apparent and you feel severely underdressed compared to the demon’s crisp dress clothes.

“Hmmm… You said six months living and eight surviving? Well… I’ll come fer this in five,” he pokes your soul with the end of one of his boney fingers. The effect is almost immediate. A feeling passes through your chest and ripples outward. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not really pleasant either. It’s a bit like static and you let out a puff of air as it passes through you. You instinctively reach up to touch your chest and look confusedly from the demon to your chest, only to find him looking much like a cat who caught the canary. Another glance to your soul shows a dark blue light where the white chip had been. It’s almost like a brand.

“A little something I cooked up to keep smart little humans from thinking they could run off without paying their debts.” You frown up at him. You didn’t really plan on running from him. You were literally dead meat anyway, where would you go? To the hospital? 

Your face must reflect your confusion because he laughs again. You hate to admit it, but he has a really nice laugh. “Don’t worry too much there sweet-cheeks, you’ll blow a gasket. It’s insurance.”

He flicks his wrist and your soul goes floating back into your chest. You feel a hell of a lot better with it inside you. An instinctual part of you knows that it doesn’t belong outside of you. You hear him hum softly to himself before he speaks again.

“Ya know, it’s kinda sad. You got a nice soul there. No Level Of Violence or Execution Points. Honestly, I ain’t never seen someone who wanted to deal with me whose soul looked like yours,” he shakes his head, clicking his tongue again. The whole sentence throws you off guard, because, honestly, you have no idea what that even means.

“Well,” you start off, not really sure where to go from there. “Thanks, I think. But uh, we can’t all help the hands we’re dealt buddy. Some of us just got bad luck from the start.”

He nods his head, as if in understanding. He thrusts out a hand to you though and shoots you another wicked grin. “Maybe. But I’d prefer if ya just called me Sans instead of buddy.”

You grab Sans’s hand. It’s warm and it envelopes yours entirely. “_____”

“_____?” He repeats, trying it out. He shakes both of your hands once. “Fit’s ya.”

“Thanks.” You seem to be thanking this demon, Sans, a lot, even though you were the one who were giving up your soul. 

“Well, I’ll catch ya later sweet-cheeks. I got another appointment coming up,” he says stepping away with a wink.

“W-wait! The home?” You blurt out. You have questions! Concerns!

“Didn’t I tell ya not to worry so much? You know my name now, so I’ll be seeing you around.” He takes a step and then he’s just gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruhhhhhhs. You all liked my intro so here is another chapter. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the support! And please check out my tumblr-> fudgernutter.tumblr.com


	3. Hard Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SORRY GUYS I ACCIDENTLY DELETED MY THRID CHAPTER TRYING TO UPDATE IT (bc I did a rewrite of Chapter 3 already bc I didn't like how it turned out) SO OOPIES BUT THIS MIGHT HAVE WORKED OUT BETTER FOR EVERYONE IN THE ENDDDD????
> 
> ANYWAYYYY
> 
> Demon Sans? [Demon Sans](http://fudgernutter.tumblr.com/post/145742500810/ok-but-imagine)

The weirdest part about this whole demon thing was that, at the end of it all, nothing really changed for you. No getting smited by lightning, no weird super powers, and no one giving your any weird looks, well weirder than normal. You had woken up the next morning, clocked into your online job as an online sales rep, and dragged Frisk out of bed and got them ready for school. Basically had just continued on with your day.

All in all it was bizarrely, utterly and almost terrifyingly normal.

A day passed without incident. Then another. Then, when the third day passed with no earth shattering thing happening, you were ready to pass the whole incident off as a strange and vivid dream brought about by your meds… or the tumors. Maybe both.

The fourth day came and went and you told yourself that come the weekend you would just have to start looking for alternatives to find a place for Frisk again.

And then Friday, aka the fifth day, rolled in. The day had started off like any other, working online service and dealing with stupid questions all day. You had just finished a call with a particularly grating customer and were stretching out the sore muscles in your back and shoulders when you glanced at the stove clock. It was nearing 2:30 and you knew Frisk would be home soon. They got off school at 3 and would be home in the next hour after that, so you figured you could put the rest of your forty hours in either tonight or tomorrow night while Frisk was asleep. 

As you finished clocking out you heard the doorbell rang. Surprised, you pattered over, barefeet treading on the cold worn, wooden floor. You peared through the peep-hole on the top and almost gasped. Before you was most possibly the most handsome man your eyes had ever had the pleasure of looking at.

He was a little taller than you, broad and thick. You could tell that even though he did have quite the stomach on him, he had quite a bit of muscle too. He was wearing a nice fitting charcoal suit with baby blue dress shirt underneath along with a matching fedora. His skin was a rich brown with freckles spattered across his cheeks and a large smile showing bright white teeth with only a hint of a gap between the first two. But the part that really go you was his eyes- they were the deepest blue you had ever seen on anybody. 

Holy shit.

He shuffled around a bit, hands tugging on the the cuffs of his jacket and the collar of his shirt before ringing the doorbell again. You clapped your hands to your warm cheeks. Get it together! He was probably a door to door salesman or even from one of the nearby churches. You would open the door and maybe chat for a bit before declining whatever he was selling, warn him about Mrs. Pat next door, God knows how long he’d be stuck listening to her blasphemy, and definitely warn him about Mr. McDooley down the road who was bad news to everyone. You’re favorite phrase to describe that piece of work was that the only white sheets he had in his closet weren’t for his bed.

Maybe if you played things right you could even get his number. 

Okay! Right. Get on with it ol’ gal. No time like the present. A calming breath and you pulled open the door, a fake smile on your face.

“Hello sir, how can I help you?” You ask to the man before you. No southerner would ever think of being rude to someone at their door.

He turns to you and his eyes positively twinkle. “Sir? I thought I told you to call me by my name sweet-cheeks.”

You were sure if you were drinking you would do a spit take, but as it was, you weren’t, so instead your eyes grow wide while your mouth forms a perfect little “o”. You recognize that voice.

“S-Sans?” You sputter out, absolutely godsmacked.

“In the flesh,” he says with a wink. You can’t help the slight hysterical giggle that tumbles out of you.

“Okay? Well… Come on in then…” You offer, opening the door wider. He shuffles in, well swaggers more really, his hands in his trouser pockets as you try to wrap your head around the whole situation. You then lead him into the living room where he plops down on the worn-in red sofa.

“Uh… Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got tea, apple juice, water, and milk.”

“Tea’s fine. Hey you got any more of those cookies?” He asks, looking hopeful.

“No.. Frisk ate ‘em all in like two days. I got some Girl Scout tag-a-longs if those are okay,” You offer with a shrug.

“Sure. Sounds sweet,” he says winking again. You give another giggle, excusing yourself to the kitchen.

You are internally screaming. Was this really happening? Are you going crazy or like delusional or something from the tumors? Apparently you did sell your soul and the demon was sitting in your living room, on your couch, looking like… you dunno, some sort of doe-eyed, sweet-hearted, good-ol’ boy. You pinched yourself, and ow, apparently you were, yup, awake.

A deep breath. In slowly and exhale slower.

No need to panic. You had been worried that this hadn’t worked, hadn’t you? Well, you guess confronting your dreams in the day time made things a lot more real. The thought was somewhat sobering and you quickly gathered two glasses of tea and pulled your secret stash of tag-a-longs out of the freezer before pouring them into a bowl. You gather them all up and walk to the living room entrance and freeze.

He looks so out of place there on the old sofa that had been in your Gran’s house for years. In fact, he just looks out of place in general. He’s so immaculate in his nice suit while you just stand there in old, white shorts and a worn in flannel. It further reminds you that, hey, you’re way out of your league here. The only comforting part about it is that Sans looks just as uncomfortable as you feel, constantly figiting with the jacket and its buttons.

So when you finally decide to walk into the living room, placing the cookies and drinks on the coffee table, the first thing you do before sitting on the rocker is ask him, “Can I take your coat?”

He smiles at you, his grin growing nearly double. “Wanna jump my bones so soon?”

You sputter again. Damn, this is guy really knew how to throw you for a loop. You recover enough to snort at him and give him a “you wish”.

“What? Are you saying you don’t like what you see?” He grins, dare you say it, devilishly.

You manage to keep your composure enough to look at him through your eyelashes, “Are you saying you want me to?”

He pauses for a second and then bursts out laughing. You follow soon after. To be completely honest it’s been a long time since you’ve flirted with anyone and it feels good. Although you have to admit, you’ve heard of dancing with death, but flirting with a demon? That’s a new one all the way across the board.

“Alright there Romeo. You don’t show up for five days and now you’re here? What’s up?”You level with him after you’ve both regained your composure. He does for sure take off his jacket, seeming more at ease than before. He’s got suspenders on that you didn’t notice because of the jacket and dang if it isn’t cute. 

“Well I had to keep ya on your toes didn’t I?” He says with a smile and a wink as he gets to work rolling up the sleeves. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Gee thanks. I thought I was going crazy. Or the tumors got to me already,” you bite back sarcastically.

“I’m here now, aren’t I? And to answer your earlier question, I’m here to meet the kid. If you want me to find them a home, I should probably know what they’re like, right?”

You hmm softly, taking a sip from your glass. You suppose it makes the most sense. He would be able to figure out the best home for Frisk after meeting the little hellion. You stretch out a bit more on the rocker, ankles and knees popping to relieve tension. “Well, you came at the right time then. They should be home soon.”

 

“Yeah?” He asks, scarfing down another tag-a-long. “Goes to school ‘round here?”

“MMhmm. The one right down the street? Dulaney Public Elementary? I don’t know if you’re familiar with it.”

“Yeah, I saw it on my way here.”

“What? Did you you poof here?” You grin at him teasingly. 

“No, and I do not poof anywhere. I simply know some good shortcuts. If you must know, I took my bro’s car,” he answers, looking very smug and happy with himself. You turn to peer out the bay window behind you, and sure enough, in the driveway is a red 1965 Chrysler Convertible. You practically drool at the sight. Ignoring the fact that Sans and quite possibly his brother are demons, you want to know exactly how much that beautiful baby cost them. 

“Your brother has good taste in cars,” you tell him and he seems genuinely happy at the compliment.

“Oh course. My brother’s the coolest,” is his simple response. You can’t help but to grin at the obvious adoration Sans has for his brother, but you check the clock on the mantle anyway. You’ve got some time to spare until Frisk gets home, might as well get to know the guy who pretty much owns the most valuable part of you now. So you sit and shoot the breeze with the demon in human’s clothing eating tag-a-longs in your Gran’s old living room. 

Wow your life has gotten really weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWOWOWOW
> 
> anyway, here is my version of a [Human Sans](http://fudgernutter.tumblr.com/post/144223257925/sansmymans)
> 
> Also I have Commisions open, so if you wanna buy some awesome artwork, [](http://fudgernutter.tumblr.com/image/145692508495)


	4. Long Island Iced Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SORRY I AM LATE
> 
> extra long chapter bc i was extra late

Time passes easily as you chat with Sans. He doesn’t tell you much about himself, which is honestly no surprise seeing as he is a literal Demon, but he is a good conversationalist, funny as hell, and more than a bit of a flirt. You find yourself laughing harder than you have in a long time when he gets on strings of puns, running them together in creative and imaginative ways that has you actually wheezing trying to catch your breath. Best, or maybe worst, of it all, is it’s so amazingly normal. Honestly, that makes you wonder what went wrong in your life for you to find comfort in Demon? 

(You decide to stow that thought away for a later time, when the thought of death looming over you is enough for you to break into your own stash of pilfered alcohol late at night where Frisk can’t see you indulge in the one of the many devils your Momma passed down to you and not them.)

It’s about 3:15 when you hear the front door click. You know it’s got to be Frisk home from school so you wipe your face with the back of the your flannel and excuse yourself to catch them before they run off to their bedroom or something.

“Hey kiddo,” you say with a genuine smile, walking into the foyer where they are winging off their shoes in the general direction of the coat closet.

“Hey,” they sign back, shifting their hold on their backpack to free their hands. You can tell that they want to run off. You swear they’re 10 going on 20. “What’s up?”

“Someone is here to meet you. They’re a friend of mine, so be nice, okay?” You tell them, signing along.

They feign surprise. “You have friends?”

“Ha ha,” you mutter back, rolling your eyes at their sarcastic remark. They snicker silently back at you, following you into the living room.

“Sans,” you say to grab his attention. “This is Frisk. Frisk, this is my friend Sans.”

Sans stands up immediately, putting that charming smile back onto his face. He offers them a hand, “Nice to meet you kid.”

Frisk gives him a smile back, and grips his hand. As they do, the sound of a fart fills the room and you watch, a small smile steadily growing larger on both yours and Sans’ faces. Sans bursts out laughing, showing a small hand-held whoopie cushion. Frisk turns beat red and you have a hard time holding back your own laughter. Frisk notices your giggle and spins to you, quickly pinching their finger and thumb and drawing it across their lips in a “zip it motion”. You stick out your tongue at them. Because adult.

“Ah… Man, whoopie cushions never get old,” he smirks, sticking the cushion into his pants pockets. “Seriously though. Your sis has told me a lot about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

You can’t see Frisk’s face from where you stand but you are 100% sure that they are rolling their eyes at Sans’s statement. But they raise their hands and hesitate, turning to look to you. You understand what they want instantly, and walk into step next to them in the living room. “Uh Frisk speaks with sign language. I can translate for you Sans, if you want.”

“Oh! Sign language? Why didn’t you just say so kid?” You are not sure but, ah, yep, he winked, it’s a pun. You chuckle, and you watch Frisk flush and offer a soundless laugh as well. They both settle down on the couch and start chatting. You’re surprised to watch Sans sign silently as well. He mouths the words along and it surprises you again at just how kind he is. You gather up the empty glasses and bowls and take them out to the kitchen to let the two trouble makers chat amongst themselves.

You say troublemaker but to be honest, Frisk isn’t a bad kid- Not by any standards!- but ever since your Gran’s death and your own fastly approaching one, they’ve been a lot… sharper with you than normal. Moodier? You’re not sure how to explain it.

Frisk used to be so happy go lucky, stubbornly meeting any obstacle head on, pushing until they got the ending they wanted. They’re not any less determined than they used to be, but they definitely are angry at you. They act like you have a choice in the fact that you are dying. Like you’ve given up or something. You’ve tried to explain it to them before, but no amount of pamphlets makes telling your younger sibling that you’re dying any easier or makes it okay. Either way, the anger they have inside them, which you totally understand and is completely normal according to your “The Seven Steps of Grieving” book, filters out into other things. To acting out in school, rebelling against you when you ask them or need them to do things, to even staying out late with MK when you’ve told them not to.

You’re trying to let them go through this at their own pace but… it’s hard. And you’re struggling too. 

But Frisk is a kid and they obviously don’t understand that quite yet, so you’re just doing the best you can by them. Books and the internet can only do so much. Now it’s up to you to stand up to the plate your Gran has left behind.

You shake your head and to try and clear out the depressing thoughts. Frisk has a tendency to notice when your thoughts have taken a twist down a darker path and it’s not good for anyone really. You grab a glass of milk and a couple of the tag-a-longs, and walk out to give them to Frisk. What you find… honestly warms your heart.

Frisk is furiously signing away. In fact their little hands are moving so fast that you can only catch out bits and pieces of what they’re saying to Sans. Sans on the other hand looks totally enraptured by whatever Frisk is telling him. He’s hunched just the tiniest bit forward, his grin smaller but softer, and his hands are free to comment whenever Frisk pauses just enough to give him time to do so. 

They look so much more like siblings then you and Frisk do. 

Frisk takes after their father more while you take after Momma. Your Momma was a short, wispy woman who takes after your long dead grandfather. Frisk’s father on the otherhand was tall, lanky, latinx man who came into your mom’s life when you were about 12 and lived with you for couple of years after Frisk was born when you were 13. He hadn’t been a nice person by any stretch of the imagination, he had stolen things and sold drugs to make ends meet, but he had been a good enough person and had probably been the first stable man in your mom’s life in years. Those few years with him, your mom and Frisk had been as close to normal as possible. History aside, it’s why you and Frisk don’t look too much alike. Sure you both have the same thin build, and a lot of folk say that you and them share the same nose and general face shape, but other than that… not really.

“Hey Frisk,” you call out interrupting their spiel about… Trains? Yeah that’s definitely what they were talking about from what you could catch by their flying fingers. They turn and look at you, one eyebrow quirking. You place the milk and cookies before them as a peace offering and they brighten.

“Thanks sis!” They sign digging into the cookies like they’re a starving man at an all you can eat buffet. You swear this kid could eat you out of house and home.

“So what’s up?” You ask Frisk as they guzzle the milk, barely taking time to breathe.

“Frisk here was just telling me about how much they like trains,” Sans offers.

“Yeah! Sans says there are trains in the world that go 200 miles an hour! Is that true sis?” They ask, eyes wide.

“Well I don’t know if 200 is the exact speed, but yeah. They’re called bullet trains and they are mostly in Japan,” you tell them honestly. They practically flail they’re so excited.

“No way! Sis, your friend is so cool!” Frisk signs, elated. 

“If you think I’m cool, just wait till you meet my brother Pap,” Sans says in response, making sure he signs along. Frisk looks like you just promised them that you were Santa and the Easter Bunny rolled into one. 

“Can I? Can I meet your brother?” 

“Sure. As long as it’s okay with your sis,” Sans says, looking at you with an unreadable expression. Ah yes. Lets bring more demons into this weird shin-dig, eh? 

“We’ll talk about it, okay?” You tell Frisk. It’s a nice middle ground, and they look like they’re about to argue when you all hear a convenient thumping on the door. At the sound Frisk’s face immediately changes and they run to answer it. You of course immediately know who it is even before Frisk opens the door all the way.

“Hiya Frisk!” It’s MK, otherwise known as Marie Knightly or Monster Kid, from down the street. She’s Frisk’s best friend and you’re pretty sure she has the biggest crush on them as well. They’re a sweet enough kid, cute enough too, but the kid tended to run off and get into trouble while dragging Frisk with them at almost every opportunity. 

MK rounds the corner spotting you and a lounging Sans. She waves at you with one of her prosthetic arms. “Hiya _____! Can Frisk come out and play?”

“Hi MK,” you wave at them. “I suppose they can, but you have to stay inside the neighborhood this time? I don’t want any random police calls again.”

“Aww _____, it was one time! And it was an accident,” she whines. Frisk walks up to them, some chocolate on their face. 

“Thanks sis!” Frisk signs, running out the door with MK. “Bye Sans. Nice meeting you!”

You sigh, shaking your head, calling out after them, “Be back at 6 for dinner!”

“Police?” Sans asks, when you walk back into the living room. You flop onto the couch next to him.

“Please. I don’t know how MK gets in so much trouble but basically it involved a drainage ditch and a calf.”

He chuckles in response but moves to get up himself. “I guess I should be heading out too. Pap’ll be worried about me if I’m out too long. I still have to get back home.”

You groan, standing up, helping him collect his jacket. “So, when will you be back?”

“Got a phone?” Sans asks when you hand him his jacket.

“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” you tell him, handing him your smartphone. He pulls open the contacts and you watch as he plugs in his number.

“There you go. Now you can pester me ‘till your little heart’s content.” Sans offers you back your cellphone, poking your cheek as you grab it from his hand. You stick your tongue out him as you inspect the contact info. He put himself in as just a simple “sans” and his number is normal.

“Darn, there’s hardly enough sixes in here for you to be a demon,” you mutter out before you can even stop yourself. The comment only makes Sans laugh, deep and rolling.

“You really are a hoot, you know that sweet-cheeks? Well I’ll catch you and the kid later,” he tells you while heading out.

“Bye Sans. Um, drive safe?” You tell him as he walks to his car. Your only answer is his laughter before you watch him get in, buckle up, and then peel out of your driveway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering about reader and Frisk's race (idk if any of you were) but in this story Frisk is latinx and you the reader is mixed. I presonally head-cannon the reader white or white-passing but I'm leaving them ambiguous so you all can decide!


	5. Sangria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys I'm back! Sorry I've been so wishy washy lately. 
> 
> The last couple months I've been really busy with costumes for Otakon.
> 
> I was Undyne the Undying and Tannis from Borderlands. I'll post some pics if you wanna see in the ending notes.
> 
> I should be posting semi-regularly from now on. 
> 
> This chapter focuses mostly mainly on family dynamics and the reader's history. If there is anything that you think I should tag please let me know!

Late that night, long after Frisk has gone to bed and you’ve already put in the rest of your hours at your online workplace, you sit and stare at your computer screen with a drink of watered down whiskey. It’s some fancy, expensive brand that you had bought once you had gotten your diagnosis, but it was so strong that you had to water it down to even palatte the stuff. You think as much as your Gran detested the drinking your Momma did that she would find it pretty amusing that you honestly hated the stuff. 

You’ve googled almost everything you can think of about demons. “Demon lore”, “Daemonology”, “Demon History”, whatever came to mind to just… you don’t know. Get a better handle on the situation? Yeah, that’s what you keep telling yourself, but honestly all you keep reading is the same old stuff that you know from what your Momma and Gran told you when you were a child. You practically hear your Momma’s shrill voice echo in the silent, old house.

“You stupid little... Don’t ‘chu know the Bible says children are supposed to obey their parents? ‘S the Lord’s word! Anyone who goes against the Lord goes to Hell. Do you know what Hell is like? No? Well why don’t I tell you?” 

Thinking of that particular night makes you grip your glass a little tighter and you take a big gulp of the whiskey. Mama wasn’t bad… She just got real angry when she was drunk. She never hit you or even took your stuff away, she would just yell… A lot. And sometimes, the self proclaimed “born-again Christian” would read passages from the Bible to scare you into being a good kid. 

You know it wasn’t healthy. You know that what she did wasn’t, nor will it ever be, right. But she was- is- your Momma, and a part of you will always love her no matter what. 

You rub your forehead as you click on another link that leads you to a poorly designed website with obnoxiously flashing gifs warning demons will send you to hell and that you needed to go to church right this instant to save yourself. You scoff. At this point you are beyond saving. You exit out of the tab and try another.This one is white text on black background with old sketchy images but… the information was different. Stuff about ancient Greeks and Dimension Demons and spirits. It was something that your Gran would have poured over. 

That’s just how your Gran was. Your Gran’s family had been of old money. (Something that didn’t matter after Gran married your Grandpa, but that’s neither here nor there.) And like any traditional, wealthy, Southern family she was raised by a Nanny. Her Nanny, who was a Black woman she called Mammy, was a third generation African American from South Africa. She not only raised Gran but also taught her some of the her own family’s traditions, including how to ask spirits to improve her life and the lives of those around her.

Apparently your great-grandparents hadn’t approved greatly of their paid help teaching their daughter hoodoo and had promptly fired the Nanny when they found out, but by that time it was too late. Your Gran as too deeply entrenched in the supernatural and spiritualism. In fact… you kind of wish you had kind of paid more attention to her when she went on her tangents about different religions and things of that nature.

You huff, taking another sip of your drink while pushing your laptop away in irritation. You’re over-thinking again and normally doing things helped ease the anxiety that liked to take residence in your chest, but right now all it was doing was making you sad and frustrated. 

You need a break. So you get up, placing your now empty glass in the sink and walking out to the back deck. You sit on the old porch swing and rock gently back and forth, looking up at the starry night sky. You remember your Gran sitting with you out here telling you all types of stories when you were young. She would sit up with you whenever you had a nightmare if couldn’t sleep and tell you how there were always good people, spirits and humans alike, in the world who would always help you out no matter what. You wonder where all those good people went or if Sans is your good person.

You wished Gran was there to tell you.

She always knew what to do.

 

You wake up the next morning with your eyes feeling a bit like they’ve been glued together with Frisk’s foot wedged into your side. You groan, looking from their splayed out form to the clock on your nightstand. It’s only 8:34 but you’re already awake. So, you roll out of bed and plod down the hall to the bathroom where you brush your teeth to get rid of the terrible fuzzy feeling in your mouth and splash your face to help yourself feel more refreshed. You then start your morning routine, pulling out your pill box and opening the slot for Saturday. Out you poor 5 pills. One is a steroid, another an anti-epilepsy medication, and the rest are different vitamins that your body now needs due to the new influx of new medication. The chemical cocktail always has your stomach in knots afterwards, but you know that if you don’t take it now that you are more likely to forget. 

You’ll just make some pancakes or something to entire yourself into eating. 

It’s about 9:15 when Frisk walks into the kitchen. You’re finishing up the nice stack of pancakes and the bacon on the counter is already sizzled to crispy perfection. “Hey there Frisk! You’re just in time for breakfast!”

They yawn, but smile sleepily at you, looking adorable with their crazy bed-head and bleary eyes. They sign a simple “thank you” as they crawl up onto their designated seat at the kitchen table. 

“What do you want to drink?” You ask them as you place the pancakes and bacon on the table next to the already set places.

Two signs in quick succession, “OJ?”

“Sure.” You grab two cups of Orange Juice as well as the butter, syrup, and jam and place them on the table. Frisk doesn’t even wait for you as they start to grab pancakes and douses them in syrup. You grab one for yourself and slather it in strawberry jam before grabbing the few remaining slices of bacon and drizzle them in syrup.

“So how much homework do you have this weekend?” You sign to them between bites of food.

“Not much,” they sign back. “Mostly english. I gotta finish that chapter. Some math and social studies too.”

“What about science?” They pause in between bites and shrug. You place your own fork down and, the sound grabbing their attention.

“C’mon Sis. You know I don’t like it!” They complain crossing their arms and burrowing their chin into the neck of their t-shirt.

“Well how about this- after breakfast we’ll clean up and I’ll help you with your science homework and then we can go do something you want, okay?”Frisk hmms, chewing on a piece of bacon. They get a sly grin on their face. 

“Can I hang out with Sans and his brother?” You almost do a spit take. Why were they so obsessed with Sans? They had only met him once! 

“Well…” You draw the word out, trying to piece your thoughts together. “I’ll text him, but I wouldn’t count on it. I’m sure he’s a very busy person too.”

“But you’ll try?” They ask, expression oddly hopeful.

“Sure boss. But homework and chores first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Undyne](http://fudgernutter.tumblr.com/post/149150807460/hey-so-im-finally-getting-around-to-uploading#notes)   
>  [Tannis](http://fudgernutter.tumblr.com/post/149727636815/some-better-pics-of-my-tannis-cosplay-a-great#notes)


	6. Sweet Tennessee Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love writing this story. I hope all of you enjoy it! Thanks for all the love :)
> 
> For any of you wondering (because I'm not sure if I've ever linked it) here is my concept for a [human!Sans](http://fudgernutter.tumblr.com/image/144223257925)

You have to admit it; you’re really proud of your younger sib.

They tackle cleaning off the table like a champ, putting things in containers or the fridge as instructed as you fill the dishwasher and wipe down the table and the counters. They run off to quickly take care the rest of their chores- mostly just making their bed and picking up their toys. They also tend to water the small garden in the back and sweep the front porch if they’re feeling especially helpful- and they are today! You guess the extra initiative of seeing two new people is putting them in a good mood.

Just as you finish washing the last pan from last night’s dinner they come stomping in from the mud room, backpack in hand. They plop down at their seat across from you. You pull up your own laptop and turn to youtube.

“What’re we feeling today, kiddo?” You ask them. It’s a tradition, you and Frisk sitting at the kitchen table doing homework together. When you were younger you would always ask them what they wanted to listen to while you worked away at your classwork as they would sit there drawing, pretending it was their “homework” as well. Gran got into it as well, specifically learning songs that the two of you would listen to multiple times just to sing along with the two of you. And she always did, regardless if she liked the music or not, and listening to your Gran try to rap to Eminem’s Rap God was a memory you still cherished to this day. 

“Old video game music?” They ask, and you grin and nod.

“Good choice as always,” you tell them finding a playlist and starting it up.

You help them with science first, because it’s what they struggle with the most. Not that you blame them, as much as you love nature and the stars, anything more than the basic concepts behind them was overwhelming for you as well. Good thing this stuff was 4th grade earth science and so quite literally basic stuff and Frisk’s class was just starting their segment on cells.

Literally you could still remember your science class. “Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

Frisk looked at you weird. “You’ll understand one day.”

The rest of Frisk’s homework passed without hitch. You had to assist them a little bit with math, mainly on just really hard multiplication and long division, but other than that they trucked along like a real trooper. And when they pulled out their reading book for their English and Literature class, A Wrinkle in TIme, one of your personal favorites, you knew you had to keep your end of the deal.

You pull out your phone and select San’s contact information. You hm and haw for a bit, more than a little at loss for what to tell him, before deciding that honesty is literally always the best policy.

11:21 to sans  
Hey so. Frisk is like super fixated on meeting your brother so I said Id at least ask you if you wanted to hang out. I was thinking we could do a nice neutral middle ground and meet at the park off of Milton and Elizabeth? 

11:23  
sure. when? 

“Hey, kiddo- no rush- but when do you think you’ll be done?” You ask Frisk. They pause in their reading to look up at you. They’re face brightens in excitement for a moment before they careful school it into something more neutral. Nice accidental pun, you mentally congratulate yourself.

They flip through a couple pages in their book, obviously contemplating how long it’ll take them to read the rest of their chapter. They shrug their shoulders and do a sort a flipping motion with their hands before signing, “Maybe 20 minutes?”

“Cool, cool,” you tell them, purposefully ignoring their curious face and excited signing.

11:27 to sans  
12? I’ll prolly bring sammiches to appease the beastie since it’ll be lunch time.

You click send before you can even think about what you said and instantly regret everything you have ever done in your life.

11:29  
were wolf you get that impression? i thought you demon-strated a bit more love towards your sibling.

You literally don’t know how to respond to that.

11:31 to sans  
… Are you going to be there or not?

11:32  
you batter believe it ;)

You snort, slamming your phone on the kitchen table and pressing the other hand to your face. He sent you a winky face. A winky face. What does that even mean? How do you process this? Seriously. You weren’t sure how to deal with this guy.

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you huff and remove your hand from your face only to see Frisk looking at you with a wide smile. They waggle their eyebrows in a manner you find almost unsuitable for a kid their age before asking, “Flirting with your boyfriend?”

“Shut it Frisk,” you tell them, standing and ruffling their hair. They giggle as they go back to work and you know that they won’t let go of this quite yet. But for now you will take this as a victory. You’re not sure how to tell your younger sibling that the reason that you are not dating this, admittedly, very attractive and charming man is because you hardly know him and because he is honestly a demon in a very literal sense. It’s much easier to just ignore that and focus on other things you can control, like making PB&J’s for this outing. 

 

It doesn’t take long for Frisk to get long and for the two of you to be rushing about. The park is only 10 minutes away, but the two of you aren’t really the best at keeping organized or on time. To be completely honest, your Gran wasn’t either. You had the sandwiches in your bag, along with water and carrots, but Frisk had managed to lose their left shoe. How? Through the magic of being 10 you could only guess, and so now you were just trying to find it so you could just get to the park.

“How do you lose one shoe?” You grumble to yourself. You’re tucked under the mud-room’s bench where the both your and Frisk’s shoes tend to accumulate. You’ve been bent over, digging through the pile for a while and your head was starting to pound. You’re not even sure if you even have time to take some pain medicine or anything. It was 11:52 and you guys were going to be late. You swat a few more of the dirty shoes around and finally find it; their beat up Nike hiding behind a pair of polka-dotted rainboots.

“Frisk!” You call out for them, straightening up as you walk into the living room with the shoe in hand. “I found it!”

They run out from their bedroom, face red and flustered. They make “gimmie” motions with their hands, flopping on the floor as you toss them their shoe. You take the moment of them struggling to get on their pre-knotted shoes to walk into the kitchen and grab the Advil bottle as well as your car keys. 

“Alright! C’mon!” You tell Frisk. “I hope you got everything you wanted because Sans and his brother are gonna think we forgot about them!”

Frisk sprints past you, as you open the door and runs to sit in the back of your old beat-up car. It’s a 1998 BMW with chipped, white paint and a dirty beige interior that your Gran bought second hand as your graduation present when you were still considering different colleges. You affectionately called it Car-Car, not the most creative of names, but it still stuck, and the poor old thing had seen you through everything. 

You slide into the front seat, throwing your bag into the passenger seat before turning to look at Frisk in your rearview mirror. You frown a bit, feeling a tad bad that you had snapped at them even though the headache pulses painfully behind your forehead and in the base of your skull. Frisk, who’s frantically snapping their seatbelt, notices your staring and shoots you a small smile. They quickly sign, “I’m ready!”

“Alright kiddo. Let’s get this gravy train a rollin’,” you humm out, returning their smile. You turn the ignition and move Car-Car out onto the main road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my first car was a 2000 Neon Plymouth that I got from my Granny when she passed away. That car literally took me through everything. I named him Car-Car and he was my grumpy old man.
> 
> RIP in peace Car-Car

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm kind of on a break from And Again, mostly because life has been busy and I've been stuck on a chapter for like 2 weeks. But this idea I've had tumbling around in my head for a while and this is kind of like a prologue just to see how you all like it. 
> 
> It's going to be a dark fic but there will be a happy ending, so if you like let me know! :D
> 
> And I'm also opening up short story requests. If you have an idea for a story please shoot me a message either here, or on tumblr! My tumblr is fudgernutter.tumblr.com
> 
> swing by, check it out :))))


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